


Are you in control?

by voluptatiscausa



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Blindfolds, Dom/sub, F/F, Gags, Kinda, Kink, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Sexual Bondage, Non-Sexual Kink, Rape/Non-con Elements, Shibari, creative use of harness, it would be shibari, like if I knew more about shibari, sorry Demane, you did not deserve this from me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 17:02:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19155280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voluptatiscausa/pseuds/voluptatiscausa
Summary: “Demane.” She interrupted him quietly, but firmly.  “Are you in control?”She asked this question with her head cocked to the side and a small smile on her face as she continued running the rope through her hands.________________________A gift fic for a wonderful friend who draws me such lovely pictures of my doggos!  I'm not an artist but I wanted to make something for them so voila!





	Are you in control?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Trytofocus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trytofocus/gifts).



Demane found Emily sitting outside her cottage in the weak morning sun. He hadn’t been able to find Sipho, but she would know where he’d gone, and hadn’t told Demane the night before, damn her.

“Where is he, Emily?”

She didn’t take her eyes from the pile of harness and buckle she was tending too, rubbing oil into the leather and polishing the buckles. 

“I’m sure I don’t know.”

“Emily.”

“How old is Sipho, now?”

Demane glared even more sternly. 

“That’s not the point.”

“Isn’t it? What sort of harm do you think he’s going to come to?”

“I barely even know this lieutenant of his. Am I supposed to allow my brother to sneak away for some sort of…some sort of tryst when I couldn’t even say if the man is a gentleman?”

Emily snorted. “Now you sound like Laurence.”

Demane’s voice rose in real fury. 

“And what if I do? Laurence looks after those who are his responsibility. He looked after you, kept you safe, hired Mrs. Pemberton which prevented God knows how many insults and indiscretions-“

Emily stood, walked with measured pace to stand in front of Demane. He didn’t move, looking down at her with defiance. She took both his hands, which were clenched in fists at his sides, in hers. He uncurled his fingers, opening his hands, instinctively unwilling to maintain a gesture of violence when she was touching him. Demane looked unsure for the first time, some bit of his anger slipping away in his confusion at this seeming tenderness. 

Emily looked down, sliding her hands from their joined fingers up to his wrists.

“As I recall, there was a time when you weren’t so approving of Mrs. Pemberton’s presence.”

He blushed. 

“That was different, I only wanted—“ he stopped, and blushed deeper. He opened his mouth again with a determined air to argue further, but Emily moved first. 

With competent rapidity, she picked up a length of the harness she had been holding and looped it around his wrists, crossing them and binding them together in a secure knot with some of the leather still trailing from it, which she then used to tug him towards the door of her cottage. 

Drag was more the word, and Demane stumbled after her in wordless confusion. She pulled him through the door, slammed it behind him, and continued walking with the makeshift lead in her hands. She stopped when she reached the stairway, tied the harness to the banister, and walked out of the room. 

Demane tugged on the harness, moved closer to the banister to try and untie it, but his wrists were bound too tightly. Emily returned a moment later with several coils of rope, and dropped all but one at her feet, spooling the remaining length out in her hands with an air of satisfaction. 

“Emily. What - “

“Demane.” She interrupted him quietly, but firmly. “Are you in control?”

She asked this question with her head cocked to the side and a small smile on her face as she continued running the rope through her hands. 

“This is ridiculous. Untie me, I have to go and make sure Sipho-“

His words were interrupted as Emily came to stand behind him. Placing her hands on his shoulders and a foot behind his knee, she pushed until his legs bent against his will. His center of gravity an unsure thing with his hands tied before him, he fell, his knees hitting the ground. He hissed in a breath, kneeling before the banister now, and could feel rope being looped around his chest, then his feet. 

“Are you in control?” 

Demane didn’t answer, and Emily took up another length of harness, a shorter piece with a buckle. She wrapped it around his neck, securing the buckle like a collar. He looked beautiful to Emily; she could see he was panting heavily now, panic seeping in at the sensation of helplessness. But she was far from satisfied. He was still struggling against his bonds. 

“What are you doing? Let me go. Let me go!”

Emily sighed and shook her head. Picking up another length of rope, she secured the loop around Demane’s chest to the loop binding his feet, forming a sort of pulley, and pulled it taut. His back bowed, his body being pulled in two different directions. He tried to pull his hands away from the banister to relieve the pull on his back, but each time he did, Emily pulled the rope she was holding farther through the loop around his feet. He was only restricting his own range of movement even further.

Finally his back could bend no further. He struggled to pull himself upright, but Emily did not loosen her grip on the rope she held. Sweat was beginning to soak through the white linen of his shirt, and it was sticking to the muscles of his shoulders. His neck was slick with it, his chest heaving, his eyes alternately squeezing shut in pain and opening wide in terror. His breath came in short gasps, his whole body trembling with the exertion. 

“Emily. What - what are you - trying to - prove…”

He still didn’t understand. Shaking her head again, Emily tied the rope she was holding securely, took the knife from her belt, and brought it down swiftly in front of Demane’s eyes. He gasped and tried to jerk away as it sliced through the harness holding him to the banister. This support gone, he fell back onto the floor. 

Emily sheathed the knife, and hooked two fingers into the collar around Demane’s neck to pull him upright so he was kneeling once again. Bending so their faces were level, she picked up more rope. 

“Where do you suppose I’m going to put this?”, she asked.

Demane was panting, wild-eyed. 

“Perhaps the better question,“ Emily continued, “is, do you have any say in where I’m going to put this?”

Demane opened his mouth, but to say what, Emily didn’t care to find out. She placed the rope into his mouth like a horse’s bit, between his back teeth, and tied it around his head. 

He gagged, tried to speak, gagged again. 

Emily removed her neckcloth, slowly. She folded it over once, then straightened and walked behind Demane. He followed her with his eyes as best he could, craning his neck to see. Standing behind him, she wound the neckcloth around his eyes as a blindfold, and tied it tightly. It caught in his hair as she tied it, and Demane whimpered in protest. He was still struggling, but in a quieter way. 

And so Emily moved to sit in front of him again to watch what he would do. She enjoyed the sight as he worked his jaw and tried to find a place for his tongue in his own mouth. As drool escaped from the corners of his mouth and tears from the corners of his eyes, moistening the blindfold. 

Watched as he learned to breath through his nose, to relax his muscles, to stop fighting his restraints. As his breathing evened out and his head bowed down. When he was fully still, she removed the neckcloth, and he looked at her with surrender clear in his face. 

Moments of silence stretched as they looked into each other’s eyes, Emily smiling, Demane afraid but finally, finally still. Emily allowed herself the pleasure of these quiet moments as the truth of her power settled into Demane, soaking into his skin and muscles and heart along with the pain of his restraints. 

“Now, then,” she said quietly and at last. “Are you in control?”

Demane kept eye contact and slowly, achingly, shook his head. 

Emily smiled, and reached out a hand to caress his cheek. 

He leaned into it involuntarily, closing his eyes as a tear fell down his face and over Emily’s fingers. 

“Good boy.”


End file.
